


Roses In December

by blackash26



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Can be read as close friendship or pre-slash, Gen, Yiddish, pre-divorce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 23:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackash26/pseuds/blackash26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night before the beach Charles is acting strangely. Erik tries to get to the bottom of things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roses In December

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this [prompt](http://1stclass-kink.livejournal.com/2292.html?thread=939764#t939764) at 1stclass_kink on LJ. 
> 
> Title is inspired but the following quote: "God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December." - James Matthew Barrie.

Erik had expected Charles’ near constant presence in the back of his mind to burst into life, reprimanding him for kissing his darling, overprotected, clearly stifled little sister. But there had been nothing and despite himself Erik was worried.  
  
He knew that he was being ridiculous, but the worry persisted. He managed to push the thought from his mind for almost an hour, tossing and turning in his bed until he finally gave up, pulled on a robe and rushed down the hall back to his friend’s room. The door was unlocked. He pushed it open, but froze on the threshold.  
  
Charles was neither asleep in his bed nor enthroned in one of the stately armchairs reading some verbose academic text; instead he was curled up on the window seat, his forehead pressed against the glass, staring off into the distance.  
  
Which was fine. Charles could do whatever he wanted on the eve before Shaw’s storm and Erik almost left right then and there, but something about the situation bothered him. He leaned casually against the doorframe watching Charles look out on the grounds for several minutes before he realized what was wrong.  
  
Charles hadn’t noticed him.  
  
Throughout their entire acquaintance Erik had never been able to sneak up on Charles, not once. And yet, Charles had no idea he was there.  
  
Erik frowned. Something was definitely wrong with his friend.  
  
“What are you looking at?” Erik asked.  
  
Charles jumped in surprise, reaffirming Erik’s suspicion that the other had not sensed his presence. The telepath automatically turned to look at Erik, but looked away just as quickly, wiping frantically at his face.  
  
He had been crying, Erik realized.  
  
“Ah, Erik,” Charles said after a moment, a painfully forced smile on his face. “I thought you had gone to bed.”  
  
 _So had I,_  Erik thought to himself, recalling his encounter with Raven. But that was no longer important. Now he was far more interested in finding out what or who exactly had upset his friend to the point that he would cry.  
  
“What’s wrong?” he asked, completely bypassing the non-question.  
  
Charles flinched and rubbed abortively at his face as though the action could erase the tears Erik had already seen.  
  
“It’s nothing,” Charles said, directing his gaze back out the window. It was a clear dismissal, but such strangely abrupt behavior from  _Charles_  of all people only spurred Erik onward.   
  
“Clearly not,” Erik disagreed, his brow furrowing. “Are you worried about tomorrow?”  
  
Charles jerked away from whatever he had been contemplating to look back at him in honest surprise. “Of course not, my friend. I have faith in all of us,” he said firmly, his usual spark returning with the force of his conviction.  
  
Frowning, Erik stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him with a click. “Then what’s the matter?” he asked seriously, unable to forget Charles’ tears regardless of how brightly Charles tried to smile.  
  
“Nothing…I just–”  
  
“What?” The question came out harsher than Erik had intended and Charles recoiled, pulling his knees closer to his chest, a wounded look on his face.  
  
Erik was stuck then by just how  _young_  Charles looked, how fragile the telepath was. Charles always shone so brightly, marching forward like an unstoppable whirlwind. But tonight Charles was not his fellow leader of the burgeoning Mutant race, no, tonight his friend had been reduced to nothing more than a lost little boy.  
  
In that moment Erik wanted nothing more than to run from the person before him, to leave this strange facsimile of his friend and hope that in the morning Charles would have returned from wherever he had gone. He couldn’t deal with this, with him. He couldn’t. He would probably only make it worse.  
  
Hell, he was already making it worse.  
  
But despite all the wonderful arguments his mind could form, his feet remained firmly rooted to the ground.  
  
“I’m–” he began abortively, but Charles interrupted him.  
  
“I was just remembering, that’s all,” Charles said, a wistful smile on his face.  
  
“Remembering what?” Erik asked, unconsciously modulating his voice to something less intimidating.  
  
Charles studiously examined the carpeting at the base of the window seat. “I…” Charles hesitated and glanced surreptitiously at Erik before returning his gaze to the floor. Then, looking inexplicably like a child expecting to be chastised he said, “Your memory, the one you showed me today. The brightest spot. I was just…remembering that.”  
  
Of all the possible responses Erik might have been expecting, that was not one of them.  
  
And the only thing Erik could think to say was “Why?”  
  
Charles ducked his head, burying his face in between his knees.  
  
Erik’s mind spun desperately trying to make sense of Charles’ behavior. He did not like the conclusions he was drawing. “Were you feeling sorry for me?” he growled, shocked that Charles would demean him like that, but unable to think of another reason why dear, proper, want-for-nothing Charles would sit in a corner crying over Erik’s single happy memory. “Were you  _pitying_  me?” he practically snarled.   
  
Charles was on his feet in moments, at Erik’s side, hand on his arm, looking horrified.  
  
“No, not at all,” Charles said quickly, his blue eyes wide and pained. “My friend, you endured horrible things but that memory you shared with me is not something I could ever pity you for.”  
  
The anger that had gathered inside of him so quickly did not fade, not immediately. He stared silently down at Charles, waiting.  
  
“No, I could never pity you for that. Erik, I was…” Charles bit his lip as he searched for the words. “I was cherishing it,” he said finally.  
  
Some of Erik’s anger melted away, but he still didn’t understand Charles’ behavior. Didn’t Charles have memories of his own? “But why were you crying?”  
  
“Oh, you saw that?” Charles took to reexamining the carpeting.  
  
“Charles…” Erik began, cautiously lifting a hand to touch the other’s shoulder.  
  
Charles’s hand tightened on Erik’s arm. “You mother…” he said, “was an extraordinary woman.”  
  
“I…”  
  
“That in the midst of poverty, starvation and oppression,” Charles continued, “she would take the time to be with you, to hold you, to look at you as though you were the center of her universe, something more than a mere asset, an unfortunate bit of goods that cannot be returned to the seller as she tried to pretend you didn’t exist and oh God I said that out loud, didn’t I?”  
  
“Yes,” Erik said as he struggled to make sense of Charles’ words. “You did.”  
  
Charles shifted uncomfortably. “I’m so very sorry about this, my friend. I’ll stay out of your memories in the future, if you don’t mind though, I’d just like to be alone right now, so if you could…” Charles attempted to push Erik back toward the door.  
  
“Charles,” Erik began, only to be ignored. “Charles, stop it,” he said sharply, but Charles was not listening.  
  
Erik planted his feet and grabbed hold of Charles, forcing the man’s arms to his sides and pulling him tight against his own chest. Charles struggled briefly against Erik’s grip before giving up, sagging tiredly against his captor.  
  
Erik felt Charles’ mind brush against his own, but rather than connecting, Charles shied away almost immediately.  
  
For some reason Erik did not like the idea of Charles being afraid of him, even though he knew such fear would be wise. He was not a nice person, after all, but then again, that had never bothered Charles before.  
  
“Charles,” Erik said, looking down at the top of his friend’s head, “Tell me you grew up happy and loved and doted upon.”  
  
Charles said nothing.  
  
Erik’s hands tightened their grip on Charles, before he forced himself to let go. He pulled away from Charles and grabbed hold of his face, forcing the other mutant to look into his eyes. “Charles…” he said sternly, wishing that he had been born a telepath so he could get these answers for himself without having to pull them painfully from Charles, one at a time.  
  
“Please don’t…” Charles said softly.  
  
“Charles.” Erik would not be moved, he would  _not_  let this go.  
  
“I don’t want to lie to you, my friend,” Charles said reluctantly.  
  
Erik’s heart grew cold. “What did they do to you?” He demanded harshly.  
  
“Nothing, Erik. I–”  
  
“Don’t try to downplay this,” he growled. If so much as a hair on Charles’ head had been harmed…  
  
“I was lonely,” Charles practically shouted. “I was just lonely, that’s all,” he repeated in a more reasonable tone of voice. “My father died when I was young and my mother…” Charles’ eyes were sad and distant for a moment, before they cleared and became filled with a strange sort of determination. “Well, she was busy. As you said, not much of a hardship,” he continued brightly. “And of course I eventually met Raven and she kept me company. The grounds were large and we got into all sorts of mischief together. I didn’t want for anything.”  
  
 _What a hardship it must have been…_  Erik remembered what he had said that day, remembered the odd look on Raven’s face when she had begun their tour through the house. The way she stayed close to Charles’ side during the entirety of their first day at the mansion. He hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, and yet…  
  
And in that moment Erik  _got_  it. He understood that for all that Charles’ privilege and status had afforded him, Erik had one thing Charles had never had, wound  _never_ have. And that one thing was perhaps the only thing his friend had ever truly wanted. And  _that,_  Erik realized, was the reason dear entitled Charles was sitting alone in his room, clinging to remembered fragments of second-hand love.  
  
“She didn’t love you,” Erik said and it was both a statement and a question. A statement because it was clearly true and a question because he hadn’t realized it was _possible_  for a mother not to love her son.  
  
As if those were the magic words, Charles deflated, that false brightness vanishing into nothingness, leaving behind a lonely little boy. “No.” Charles smiled sadly. “No, she did not.”  
  
Erik looked down at Charles. He realized with some surprise that his friend’s face was still cupped in his hands and awkwardly relocated his appendages to Charles’ shoulders. He used the movement to consider his options, to try to make sense of this revelation about Charles’ childhood and decide what exactly he was going to do with his newfound knowledge.  
  
Charles was always helping everyone else, eager to be their mentor and friend, but no one ever seemed to be there for Charles.  
  
And though he knew he was probably the worst possible choice when it came to offering constructive help that didn’t involve pushing teenagers off buildings, he did not have it in him to abandon Charles. Not now, not after everything they had been through together.  
  
He took a deep breath. “Right,” he said. He let go of Charles’ shoulders, took his hand and pulled him back over to the window seat.  
  
Startled from his melancholy, Charles laughed. The laugh lacked its usual spark, but Erik would fix that.  
  
“Erik, what are you doing?” Charles asked.  
  
Erik pushed Charles down onto the seat and then sat down beside him. “Well?” he said pointedly, glancing at Charles out of the corner of his eye.  
  
“What?” Charles asked, his forehead wrinkling with confusion.  
  
Erik’s lips quirked into something like a smile. “Tomorrow is a big day,” Erik said.  
  
“Yes, it is,” Charles agreed cautiously.  
  
Erik nodded. “I need to be sure I can find that place you showed me again. The place between rage and serenity,” he said nonchalantly.  
  
“Erik…”  
  
Erik ignored him. “This is important, Charles,” he said seriously. “Can you help unearth a few more of my old memories?”  
  
“My dear friend,” Charles said. Erik could not help but turn to face Charles at the depth of emotion he heard in the telepath’s voice.  
  
As Erik watched, a single tear escaped Charles’ eyes and slipped down his cheek. Before his better judgment could kick in, Erik’s hand had already moved of its own accord, brushing away the tear with more gentleness than he had thought himself capable of.  
  
Unable to take back the sentimental gesture and uncomfortably aware of the fact that he didn’t regret it, Erik reached out, took Charles’ right hand in his own and placed it clumsily against Charles’ right temple.  
  
Charles automatically corrected the placement of his hand and stared at Erik with wide eyes.  
  
“Come now Charles,” Erik said casually. “We haven’t got all night.”  
  
Charles stared at him in silence for a long time before nodding and closing his eyes.  
  
Erik felt the increasingly familiar brush of Charles’ mind against his own, first skimming through surface thoughts and then deeper. Erik felt Charles sink down beneath the numb determination of his adulthood and the tortured agony of his adolescence until he came to the murky, mostly forgotten realm of his childhood.  
  
Images flashed through his mind as Charles moved through his oldest memories. Helping his mother set the table for Shabbat, his mother’s pride when he pretended that his sister had found the afikomen all by herself on Pesach... his mother’s hand on his forehead as he tossed and turned late one night with a horrible fever.  
  
Her hand was cool and soothing and despite the haze of illness Erik felt at peace. He was safe there, at his mother's side. No one could harm him. He was safe and he was loved, two feelings he had never thought he could feel again.  
  
Erik closed his eyes, allowing himself to fall deeper into the memory.  
  
He could hear her voice now, rough with fatigue, but full of affection, singing him to sleep.  
  
 _In dem beys hamikdash_  
In a vinkl kheyder  
Zitzt di almone Bas Zion aleyn.  
Ir ben yokhidl Yidele  
Vigt zi keseyder  
Un zingt im tzu shlofn a lidele sheyn: ay-lu-lu…  
  
“Mama,” he mouthed that sacred word along with his memory self as his fever finally broke.  
  
“Ich bin hier,” she murmured to him, “Ich bin hier, morgen früh wird alles besser sein.”  
  
 _Oh, my friend,_  someone whispered in his mind.  
  
Charles he remembered after a moment. Charles was here with him.  
  
 _I cannot intrude on this moment, Erik._  
  
 _You’re not intruding,_  Erik thought as sternly as he could from his state of warm contentment.  _You’ve given me so much, let me share this with you. Remember her, **honor**  her with me._  
  
Charles said nothing, but then he felt the other’s mind settling alongside his own, shadowing Erik’s memory self. He lost track then of what was past or present, of the line between Charles and himself.  
  
There was only the warmth of the fire, the cool of their mother’s hand and the love in their heart.  
  
And still their mama sang like an angel,  
  
 _In dem lidl, mayn kind,_  
Ligt fil neviyes.  
Az du vest amol zayn tzezeyt oyf der velt…  
Shlof zhe Erik, shlof.   
  


  
_The End_

**Author's Note:**

> Translation Notes:
> 
> 1\. ”Ich bin hier, morgen früh wird alles besser sein” means "I'm here, I'm here. Everything will be better in the Morning" - A huge thanks to polaris_86 on LJ for the translation!
> 
> 2\. The song Erik’s mother is singing is a Yiddish Lullaby called Rozinkes mit Mandlen. I did not use the entire song. Here is the translation of the parts I used:
> 
> In the temple, in the corner of a chamber,  
> The widow The Daughter of Zion is sitting all alone.  
> As she rocks her only son Yidele to sleep,  
> She sings him a pretty song, a lullaby.
> 
> In this pretty lullaby, my child, there lie many prophecies.  
> Someday you’ll be wandering in the wide world -  
> And now sleep, Erik*, sleep.
> 
> You can listen to this lovely song [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IXAHwyDH6_Y%20) and the full lyrics can be found [here.](http://yiddishlyrics.wordpress.com/2007/12/13/rozinkes-mit-mandlen-%D7%A8%D7%90%D7%96%D7%A9%D7%99%D7%A0%D7%A7%D7%A2%D7%A1-%D7%9E%D7%99%D7%98-%D7%9E%D7%90%D7%A0%D7%93%D7%9C%D7%A2%D7%9F/)
> 
> *I had her alter the name in the song to be Erik's.


End file.
